Amongst the Ruins
by IHeartSam
Summary: "I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.' - Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice. Another take on how Eowyn came to love Faramir. Slight AU timeline/events.
1. Chapter 1 - Fear and Kindness

_**Amongst the Ruins**_

 _"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.'' - Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice._

* * *

 **Chapter One: Fear and Kindness**

" _I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will." - Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre._

* * *

Eowyn paced the confines of her new chamber in Minas Tirth's Houses of Healing, feeling impotent and ill at ease as she stared out at the brooding darkness of Mordor in the distance. Just yesterday she had gone before the Steward, pleading for release from her prison, but she had been once again denied her freedom, receiving an Eastward view in compensation.

She stopped before the open window, her eyes drawn to the eastern shadows once more. The brave shieldmaiden suppressed a shiver at the sight of it, the evil in that place so tangible even from so far. Smoke stained the air, dark tendrils of it creeping resolutely across the fiery sky towards Gondor's capital. Her fists clenched then, as she stood thinking with despair of her brother who had ridden towards that Darkness only a few days before. Would they have arrived at the Black Gates yet? Nay, that seemed too soon, but Eowyn realised with frustration that the only person whom she might know that could tell her when to expect the Army of the West to reach their destination was the very one whom she wanted to avoid. Little could she explain her fearful sentiment to herself, since the Steward had been gracious and warm to her – despite her frosty exterior. The object of her thoughts walked into the gardens below her window and memories of their encounter the previous afternoon came back to her.

As soon as she had seen him she had known him, before he had even turned about she could see that the tall figure atop the walls was not that of the old Steward, Denethor, nor even his boisterous elder son, Boromir. Even as his name was given she had known him to be Faramir, the second son of Denethor. Now Steward himself.

He had lifted grey eyes as stormy and deep as the sea, and she had reeled at the pain they spoke of, dropping her own as she sought to avoid the reminder of her own loss. They had spoken for a time then, and he had regarded her steadily as she spoke of her desires, her wish to follow the captains to war, rueful understand bright in his ever-changing gaze.

"I am also a prisoner of the Healers…" he had said, and she had sensed - for a moment - something like shame or reluctance in his words, half whispered as they were, and it was indeed with shame of her own that she realised she had spared no thought as to why this man remained in the Houses and was not with the Army. It was clear though that he was wounded, for his handsome face was pale beneath its tan and there was a tightness about those kind eyes that bellied his otherwise stoic, pain-free expression. Her shrewd gaze swept over him then, noting that his left arm was bound to his side, largely hidden beneath the green cloak he wore, and Eowyn did not miss the way he held himself straighter as he noticed her attention, as if in defiance or embarrassment, though not a flicker of either emotion passed across his noble visage. She felt that rather his pride rose to the challenge of her gaze and allowed herself a small smile. Here was a true warrior of Gondor.

Once more he asked her if there was aught else he could give her, for freedom he could not grant.

"My window does not even look eastward," she had said sadly, unsurprised that he seemed to understand her unspoken desire, vowing that he would see to it that her chambers were moved so that she could gaze after all their hopes. In the next moment, however, he did surprise her, asking bluntly for her companionship. Yet she chaffed fearfully at his attention, surprised by his forthright manner, and so it was that despite his gallant civility she could not bring herself to agree to his request. Nay, to do so would be to feel again – for already he had stirred more feeling in her than she had allowed since leaving the Golden Hall at Meduseld, breaking into her defences with each swift glance of those piercing eyes. And she had no wish to feel again, to live again. To do so would only bring more pain.

He had accepted her refusal with a smile tempered by disappointment and she had promptly fled.

It was only now that Eowyn realised that the Steward's disappointment may have been caused more by loneliness than her vehement denial of his poetic words. She frowned in recollection of them now, wondering what honesty in his bearing had forestalled a derisive, cynical snort that surely any other would have received for such flowery praise. Yet it was true that she had sensed no guile in him and she blushed anew at his compliments, suddenly struck that his earnest, eloquent words and strikingly handsome features combined to render him a threat. Somehow she had no doubt that the strange combination of traits he possessed, masculinity tempered by gentleness, would draw her to him. As it had in Aragorn. She shifted uncomfortably, recalling the fool she had made of herself before the northern ranger, silently vowing not to let herself be deceived into misinterpreting feelings of warmth and kindness once more. Her pride could not countenance such another lapse of judgement, nor her heart survive another blow so soon.

Her musings were gratefully interrupted by a knock at the door as the elderly Healer, Ioreth, bustled into her room, a bowl of reeking porridge wafting from a tray balanced on one arm. Eowyn's nose wrinkled in distaste.

"Good morning my lady! You're up early! Did you not sleep well?" Ioreth exclaimed, only years of dealing with recalcitrant patients rendering her immune to Eowyn's surly glares as she changed her dressings and applied salves to her wounds.

"Nay, Dame Ioreth, I am afraid I find rest elusive," Eowyn said distractedly, her face turned back to gaze out of the window. Ioreth obviously took note of her wandering attention for a moment later she sighed and shook her head sadly, muttering and tutting to herself.

"Another of my charges who finds little rest under my care! He's not slept more than a few hours since his fever broke…"

"Was he very badly wounded?" Eowyn asked curiously.

She was surprised when the older lady stilled and met her gaze gravely. "Aye, my lady, it is a miracle he still lives at all, but there are those who have always said he lives a charmed life, evading death where others cannot. Tis nonsense of course, only his great skill has kept him alive, though being so modest he would never acknowledge that - only those failures that none but himself see. Though perhaps his father could be said to be the cause of that; it would be fair to say _he_ sees...oh, dear... "

The Lady's brows rose at this detailed account and she suppressed a smirk as Ioreth recollected herself, holding her tongue of the gossip that had begun to flow from it so freely.

"I had not thought him to be quite so grievously wounded," Eowyn mused.

Ioreth chuckled at that, though there was little humour in the sound, "Aye, Lord Faramir permits few to see his weaknesses. But you must have met him already?"

"Yesterday," Eowyn acknowledged with a nod.

"That is well, my Lady," the Healer said with a matronly smile, "He has few friends left in the City now that those remaining under his command are gone to the Black Gates and Eru knows how he mourns for the passing of those he lost in the retreat from Osgiliath. Only a handful of his company made it back to the City gates alive, and then only because of the Captain's stalwart defence even as he himself was felled by a poisoned dart. I am sure he would welcome your friendship."

The White Lady felt guilt swell up within her as she realised how lonely he must feel and vowed that she would at least reconsider his request for company. Perhaps he simply sought her companionship so that he might divert his thoughts. She realised that they were not so different after all.

* * *

So it was that as the morning turned to afternoon the Lady Eowyn came once more before the grave Captain who turned about at her approach, his sharp ranger's ears alerting him to her movements. She had a moment to register the fleeting glimpse of surprise that passed over his face before he schooled it into stillness once more.

"My Lady, what may I do for you this fine day?" He greeted her with a perfunctory bow as she came to a standstill.

Eowyn felt colour rise in her cheeks as a flash of anger and embarrassment warred within her at the fact he seemed to know she did indeed want the companionship she had spurned and she heard the coolness of her response with a distant wince.

"Nay, Lord. I came only to thank you for the promptness with which you saw to my room being altered."

He shook his head, mercifully ignoring her tone or else blithely unaware of it. She fought the urge to squirm and he bestowed a flicker of a smile on her then, causing her to blush; nay, this astute man could only be ignoring her tone with a gentlemanly tact and understanding that made her both grateful and ashamed.

"It was naught." He said, "I am only sorry I could not do more for you."

Eowyn dropped her gaze then, Faramir merely standing patiently before her as if sensing she had something else to say.

"Perhaps, My Lord, there is one other thing which would ease my mind…"she said hesitantly.

"You have but to name it and I will see it done, if I may," he assured her.

"Then, might I ask you if I may join you in your walk?" she asked, thinking to broach the subject of the Army.

"I would be delighted to have your company," Faramir said, and she could hear the warmth of true pleasure in his voice.

She approached him warily, unsettled by the quiet admiration and attentiveness in his gaze, her body tensed in readiness to flee should anything like the praise of the previous day leave his lips. Yet he remained silent, and the lady felt relief as he turned to lean on the walls overlooking the Pelennor, likewise taking in the bloodied corpses piled upon the field and the smouldering ruins in the distance. The latter she regarded curiously, recalling Ioreth's words earlier in the day and Faramir spoke then, as if reading her mind, and his voice was heavy with grief as she watched him from the corner of her eye.

"That was the city of Osgiliath. Once it was a great place, full of music and peace. Now it lies in ruin – teeming with orcs and filth."

"It must have been a heavy blow to lose..." Eowyn said gently as regret tugged at the Captain's features.

"Aye, for it was our last line of defence between Minas Tirith and the river. But it was already overrun when we reached it."

He fell silent, and Eowyn wondered what horrors he had seen there to give his face so haunted a look. After a few moments he sighed, dragging himself from whatever dark reverie held him prisoner, meeting her gaze once more with a wan smile.

"Forgive me, I was - "

"I understand," she said simply, with a shake of her head. "I am sorry for those you have lost."

He looked back at her steadily and she felt as if a wordless understanding rippled between them as his expression softened, "As am I for you."

Eowyn avoided his gaze, fighting to retain her composure before him. Tears beaded in her eyes before she could control them even as she jerked her head in wordless acknowledgment, her reluctance to continue speaking obvious. It was once more with grateful relief she noticed the young Captain turn away to allow her a moment to steel herself against reality. Emboldened by his sensitivity she swallowed her pride and asked in a whisper,

"How long to the Black Gates?"

She looked intently at the pale stones beneath her feet as she spoke, not trusting herself to meet the gaze she now felt so keenly upon her for fear of the pity she dreaded to see. But there was only a flash of sorrow, quickly stifled as the captain wrested control over his features.

"At least a week, perhaps even ten days," he answered in an equally hushed tone, his gaze drawn back to the East as if by will alone his eyes could pierce the veil of distance. But even his keen ranger's gaze had no hope now of sighting the Army and silence fell between them once more as they each grappled with their thoughts.

"My Lord?" A tentative voice caused Faramir to turn about, anxiety clear on his face. "Damrod has awoken. He asks for you, my Lord."

Faramir let loose a sigh of relief and sagged, grasping at the low walls of the garden with his unbound hand. "Thank Elbereth," he murmured. He turned to the messenger, smiling so widely that dimples appeared at the corners of his mouth. "That is glad news indeed. I will come to him, and all the others, as soon as I may."

"You need not delay on my account, my Lord," Eowyn interrupted, determination clear in her gaze. "But if I may, I would come with you and see those of Rohan who also reside here."

"Forgive me, my Lady, but the sick rooms are no place-" the messenger spoke hastily before Faramir could respond, but it was with a sharp eye and a low voice filled with warning that the tall Captain forestalled the young lad's interruption even as Eowyn's eyes flashed with ire.

"You would do well to remember whom you address. Lady Eowyn is no swooning maid; she fought on the Pelennor and defeated a foe greater than any man, and as such if she desires to speak with her men it shall be so. We shall come presently."

The messenger flushed and bowed an apology to Eowyn before departing, though she scarcely acknowledged his words, busy as she was gazing at the Gondorian at her side in surprise.

"There are few who would defend my actions as you just did," Eowyn said, not sure herself if she could countenance and defend them quite so honestly. She found herself subject to his penetrating stare then as he turned about to face her once more. He regarded her silently for a moment, and she dropped her head to avoid his gaze, feeling stripped bare by the understanding she saw shimmering there, and he waited until her gaze came back up to meet his own before speaking once more.

"There are many more than you think, my Lady, and as for myself: I admire what you did." He said simply.

* * *

Eowyn left the ward with the warm feeling of gratitude swelling in her heart. She had been welcomed by her people with cheers and good humour, and all had been awed by her deed. She had been humbled and shamed by their devotion to her and was glad she had asked to see them, vowing to do so each day in penance for her desertion of those others who had needed her help and protection. In time she made her way back to the garden where she found Merry in close conversation with the Steward. Both looked grave and Eowyn was shocked to see tears rolling down Merry's cheeks. She watched as Faramir sank to one knee before the hobbit, resting a hand upon his shoulder as he met his gaze and spoke softly. She could not hear what was said but was warmed when Merry gave a watery smile in answer. Feeling as she were interrupting at a sensitive moment she chose to hail them loudly, feigning ignorance of what had transpired.

"Wes du hal!" she called, raising a hand in greeting.

Merry spun about and his face broke into a weak grin at the sight of her as Faramir rose to full height once more, his gaze heavy with private thoughts. He gave a quick but wan smile of greeting which faded rapidly from his face as a messenger arrived to see him. He excused himself and hurried off to meet the man, holding a conference with him at a bench at the far end of the garden. They watched him for a moment before Merry blew out a sigh and gave a shake of his curly head.

"They give him no rest," he murmured.

"Nay, he gives himself no rest I think." Eowyn responded sagely, wondering when she had developed such a keen sense of insight, but then perhaps it was only because she herself would give anything to have her time and mind occupied and be of use. She seated herself upon one of the low stone benches framing the paths, Merry following wordlessly, concern clouding his normally rosy disposition.

"Aye, perhaps you are right," he said, "He is an honourable man, and responsible for so many. I cannot imagine what it is to bear such a burden!"

But Eowyn could. She knew what it was to be responsible for others, and a heavy weight it was indeed. How could he face it so selflessly? She mused on what little she knew of the Steward for a while, pondering his strange character: it was true she had deemed him gentle when first they met and his insightful instincts had made themselves known, and though she had also seen in him a formidable warrior, she sensed in him now a more subtle undercurrent of steel, for he was one quick to set aside any consideration of himself in favour of the duties and cares that bound him to others. His sense of honour was obvious, if quiet, and Eowyn found she could not help but admire his reserve in this matter for she was too used to Rohirric boasts.

Their contemplative silence was broken when Ioreth bustled over to them with a tray. Merry's stomach rumbled loudly as she unpacked the selection of cheeses and dried meats before handing them each a plate and Eowyn could not help but grin as the hobbit shrugged by way of explanation.

"I missed second breakfast!"

* * *

A/N: TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Of Sorrow and Hope

 _"_ _There is a crack in everything.  
That's how the light gets in."  
― Leonard Cohen_

Evening found the shieldmaiden and the halfling in the gardens of the Houses of Healing. Together they walked beneath the light of a pale moon, occasional bursts of talk between them echoing out to break the quiet of the night even as a chill wind carried away their voices on a sigh. After a time they turned a path back to the Houses only to find a figure coming towards them. Immediately Merry brightened, the warmth of welcome in his smile.

"It's Captain Faramir!" Merry exclaimed, waving and beckoning.

The Man of the South gave a weary smile in response but Eowyn had eyes only for the pile of books held tight in his arm.

A deep chuckle escaped him as he noticed the direction of her gaze, and he quirked a lop-sided grin as he proffered the pile.

She raised her eyes slowly, her brows brought tight together in a frown, grateful yet troubled by his attentiveness. He silenced his mirth at the sight of her expression.

"I brought these for you both – lest boredom drives you to insanity," he explained, and Eowyn blenched at the almost apologetic note in his voice. Was she so stern? She forced a smile to her face.

"Thank you, my lord," she said, uncomfortable. Ever discreet, Faramir ignored her lack of composure and turned to the Hobbit with a smile.

"And for you Master Merriadoc, I also have this!"

"Longbottom leaf!" Merry exclaimed delightedly, "Oh thank you sir, you are kind. But where did you get it?"

"Pippin. He gifted me some and I learned of your love of it through him, though little else. I was told to ask you for the leaf's history."

Merry's bright expression wavered, "Theoden King once asked me for the history of Longbottom leaf…I never got the chance."

Eowyn felt her throat constrict at the mention of her Uncle's name and her eyes flew up from the pages in her arms. Faramir's dark eyes bored into her own for a beat before he turned his gaze back to Merry.

"Well tell me now and think of him. We know not – perhaps somewhere he may yet hear your tale." Faramir said, watching as Merry exchanged silent communication with Eowyn. She nodded her permission, wanting to feel close to the memory of her Uncle too. And so they sat for a time watching the moon rise as Merry spoke of the Shire and Longbottom leaf, Faramir listening attentively and asking probing questions to lead the discussion.

"I wish I could have spoken with him one last time…" Eowyn's mournful voice surprised even herself as she realised she had spoken her thoughts aloud.

"If you should wish to bid him farewell, I can take you to the Citadel where he rests with all the honour Gondor can give him." Faramir's softly spoken words were answered only with an unspoken ascent as Eowyn nodded her golden head in reply. She hesitated before accepting his cautiously extended hand as she rose shakily to her feet, feeling Merry's smaller, warm hand slipping into her palm a moment later as Gondor's Captain released her from his firm grip.

And so it was that Faramir led them in silence to the seventh circle of Minas Tirith, along endless streets paved in a pale, white stone that glittered in the shafts of moonlight. Eowyn craned her neck backwards, wincing in sympathy for Merry, as they approached what must be the Citadel: it was a towering structure adorned with statues and embellishments of stone, and before it stood a withered tree in the centre of a barren courtyard. The famous White Tree of Gondor. The Man of the South smiled at the sight of it, quick and bright, and she marvelled at the hope and peace in his countenance, a surge of jealous anger tightening her gut and her grip on Merry's palm. Why could she not feel such peace? What strength did he have that she lacked that he would be so gifted with hope? Did he truly believe that Aragorn and the others would return, victorious? It was but a fool's hope, and she had not thought him a fool. But then he turned to face her full, his expression swiftly morphing into one of infinite tenderness and regret, and the scornful thoughts fled from her mind. He did not deserve her jealous spite. Let him keep his peace and hope, and bring him what comfort they could, false or not.

"We are here," Faramir said simply. Eowyn met his steady gaze and nodded her determination once more, squeezing against Merry's hand in thanks for the comfort of his presence. He walked forward slowly and the wardens at the doors of the Citadel let them pass without comment, bowing their heads respectfully as the Shieldmaiden reached them.

Eowyn felt her breathing become ragged as her eyes fell on the shrouded form of her uncle, lying at the far end of the great hall, before the throne of the King. Faramir fell back to walk at her other side and somehow the silent gesture of support steadied her. Thus Rohan's daughter walked the long, dim corridor of the Citadel, her eyes fastened on the green shroud warming Theoden's body, the only flash of colour amidst the bleak magnitude of the vast hall.

An eternity, then her footsteps halted, the echoes dying away so that only her own heartbeat could be heard singing in her ears. She felt Merry's eyes on her as he gave an encouraging rub on her hand before letting her go so that she could step up to gaze upon her uncle's face. She did so almost without thinking, tears standing bright in her eyes as an ache grew in her breast and caught in her throat. She blinked, her vision clearing, and was comforted by the peace she saw upon Theoden's noble face. He had led Rohan with honour, courage, strength; the pride of his people and a staunch bastion of duty. Songs would be sung of his glorious sacrifice and victory. A tremulous smile broke upon Eowyn's face for she knew that Theoden would have wished for no less.

She quietly began to sing, bidding his spirit farewell in the language of the Rohirrim. Memories nigh choked her, her heart clenched as it was against the still-raw pain of Theodred's passing. But she swallowed them back. Father and son would be re-united in death, King and Prince welcomed into the halls of their forebears.

Eowyn closed her eyes against hot tears as she uttered the last note of lament, her heart caught somewhere between relief and emptiness. His spirit had passed; she no longer felt his nearness.

 _I would see you smile again…_

Theoden's voice came back to her then as if to remind her to let go her grief. For that it was too soon yet, but for the love she held for him she would try, in time, to set aside her mantle of sorrow.

Thus she turned from her hungry watch upon his much-loved face, heaving a weary, stuttering sigh.

Merry's tear streaked face peered up to meet hers and she felt her heart swell with gratitude for the loss she read so clear in his gaze. He too had loved Theoden, if only for a while, but he knew something of her pain and she was thankful to have him near. Impulsively she reached out and took his palm, pressing it firmly.

Raising her head, she stilled, caught in the net of Faramir's burning gaze. Her lips parted in wordless wonder: her soul reflected back at her from his eyes.

Thoughts turned from herself for a moment; a bloom of pity grew in her belly. Here was one to whom the mantle of grief was no stranger, on whom it weighed so heavily that it could be read in the very line of his mouth, the pull of his shoulders, the heaviness of his gaze. Suddenly she felt both drawn to him and wary of him; stripped raw, liberated, and also terrified by the sight of such understanding. But it was too much, her own pain lay too near and she had not the strength left to fight it this night. She blinked against the sight of him and turned to leave, heard it as the others fell silently into pace at her sides once more down the long line of the Hall, so different from Meduseld where warmth was woven into the very fabric of the building, worn into each strip of timber. There was no warmth in this cold tower.

Merry's curious nature had him looking around him in great awe, and thus Eowyn's eyes followed his line of sight, to fall on the marble statues lining the walls. Seeing their interest Faramir helpfully supplied their context, his voice kept to a respectful low murmur.

"They are likenesses of the Kings of Old."

Eowyn glanced at him quickly as they made their way back outside, nodding their thanks to the guards as they parted for them.

"Truly you do Theoden King an honour to have him laid amidst such greatness."

"He deserves no less; Gondor will be forever in debt to Eorl's house, though it pains me that we cannot give him the highest honour in Gondor and lay him with the kings of old themselves," Faramir said, his brow furrowed regretfully.

"Aye, of course, Gandalf told me the tombs were destroyed by a fire during the battle," Merry interjected.

"Yes," Faramir agreed hesitantly, turning his raven head to gaze upon a gated archway beyond which billows of smoke still spiralled from amidst piles of rubble. He continued, admitting the cause for the distress writ upon his brow, "It pains me that I cannot lay my father to rest in the Steward's House."

"But surely the Citadel is a noble alternative for one who served Minas Tirith all his life?" Eowyn asked. She was shocked by the stiffening of Faramir's posture as he turned back to face her, his expression stoney and blank for a moment till his control wavered, lending her a glimpse of his tortured soul.

"Aye," Softly he spoke, "Though I am told they could not recover my father's body…"

Eowyn closed her eyes in another long blink against his words, her cheeks flaming. What she would not give for his tact; she should have known, had heard the gossip whispered in the halls at night.

"Forgive me, my lord." She said gently.

"There is naught to forgive," Faramir said with a shake of his head. He turned to look out at Mordor as a sudden flash of light lit up the sky over the mountains in the East, accompanied by a dull, roaring rumble that heralded the massing of turgid clouds in the distance. Eowyn knew not whether to envy him his composure in the face of such evil, or pity him, for he had lived in sight of such fearful occurrences for his whole life.

"Come," he said, his voice suddenly that of a stern and wary captain, his eyes flickering over to them before resuming their keen scan of the sky, "We should get back."

The Lady drew closer to the Halfling as she took in the tension in Faramir's stance, unease growing like a pit in her stomach as she too turned her gaze to the clouds brooding over the Dark Land. Cold gripped her a moment later when a shrill and piercing cry rent the night and her mind summoned the image of the Nazgul.

"The Nine…" she whispered, steeling herself against fear like a true daughter of Eorl.

But Faramir turned to face them then, and his face held such pity that her thoughts stilled in confusion. Surely he must have heard them? The cry came again and this time Eowyn perceived it as Merry also startled at her side.

Faramir gave a compassionate smile as he clapped Merry on the shoulder reassuringly, his glance also taking in Eowyn apologetically before he spoke.

"Tis only a gull; they fly in from the shores of the Anduin each spring."

A strangely deflated feeling washed over Eowyn. She had been ready to face the end and knew not if she had the stomach to wait for it. She looked up into the darkness and perceived the form of the bird, small and high above, and wished ardently that she could be so free. She directed her gaze back to earth with a sigh to find Faramir regarding her, his face a silent query.

She gave a bitterly embarrassed chortle.

"I thought the end had come." She admitted, knowing not that the others heard the strange sadness in her voice. She felt the need to justify her conclusions and continued with a quizzical remark directed almost with defiance at the Gondorian. "The sky and the thunder…"

"And you seemed so hasty to get back to the Houses!" Merry added.

A flash of understanding lit Faramir's face, even as he shook his raven head.

"The end is not yet here." He turned to look upon Mordor as he spoke, forcing their eyes to follow his own. "Those clouds are indeed generated by Sauron, for he has the power to spread darkness and breeds them for his evil purpose. Always they have loomed in the East – but when the Nazgul come those clouds spread forth before them like a herald of doom."

Faramir shifted, again seeming anxious. Patiently, Eowyn and Merry waited for him to speak once more.

"I sense that their attention has been called elsewhere…" Faramir pronounced in a somewhat prophetic tone.

Merry blanched and stepped closer to Faramir, his face awash with anguish and worry. Eowyn watched as, without turning, Faramir's strong hand found its way onto his shoulder once more, both silent apology and succour.

"But the end is not yet upon us…" Merry spoke hesitantly, full of quiet hope and Faramir turned to face him, a tentative and wondering smile playing about his lips.

"No it is not." He said.

Envy stabbed at Eowyn's gut and left despair in its wake. What hope was there? How could two small Halflings triumph against the vast might of Mordor?

The stern voice of Dernhelm stilled the dark thoughts.

Was it not true that she and Merry had triumphed when victory was measured not by the strength of body or arm but rather by the strength of spirit? Courage and love could achieve much, even in those small of stature.

Utterly drained and emotionally exhausted, she managed a small smile when Merry turned back to face her, his eyes brimming with belief. Briefly Eowyn wondered why she alone seemed so unable to hold onto hope but her mind rebelled against further thoughts and forced a sigh from her instead. The Lady mustered her strength as once more the trio resumed their return to the wards, happy to listen to Merry quietly converse with the Captain for he seemed to bring peace to the Hobbit's countenance.

Eowyn bade goodnight to the Steward when they returned to the Houses, unwilling to permit him another glimpse of her pain. Those soulful eyes saw too much already. She could endure no more of his pity or kindness, it made her weak, vulnerable.

"You have my thanks," she said slowly, "But I will not keep you from your rest any longer."

Thus dismissed, Faramir bowed his head in acknowledgment, two spots of colour flaming into life upon his pale cheeks. Eowyn's brows pulled at the sight, feeling very suddenly very sorry to have him think she noticed his fatigue or pain, that she scorned his need for pride and deception. But he merely met her gaze with a rueful smile.

"And I would not stand between a Hobbit and his supper," he responded, glancing sidelong at Merry who had been heard to bemoan the passing of the dinner hour only minutes before.

"Until tomorrow then," He said, sketching them each an abbreviated bow before melting into the darkness.

Eowyn turned to Merry to find him regarding her strangely. She canted her head to one side in a silent query.

"I think you can trust him," he voiced after a moment's hesitation.

Eowyn turned her gaze away, troubled.

"Perhaps," she murmured.


	3. Chapter 3 - A Game of Patience

_Chapter Three: A Game of Patience_

 _"It is easier to find men who will volunteer to die, than to find those who are willing to endure pain with patience." - Julius Caesar_

* * *

The early hours of the morning found Eowyn gasping for breath in bed, legs tangled in her sweat-drenched sheets as she fought to regain her composure. She found that she was weeping with some surprise, having no memory of her dream, knowing only that it had been terrible. She scrubbed at her face with her good hand, breathing deeply till she calmed enough to lie back down with a sigh. But she knew she would find no more sleep this night and did not lie long in ponderous silence before the need for distraction overcame her, finding her flinging off her coverlet to pace to the far end of her chamber where the small stack of books from the Steward lay piled on her dresser. She picked the small volume from the top and flicked it open without divining the title.

Eowyn squinted at the pages for a few moments before sighing at the futility; she needed light and her fire and candles had died and she had no matches. She recalled having walked past a sort of common room earlier in the day and determined to try to read there for a few hours before the sun rose. She donned a thin robe with difficulty and crept into the halls, book safely ensconced in her grasp, wincing at the chill marble beneath her feet. After a few minutes of wandering her feet crossed into the common room she had spied earlier.

A relieved sigh escaped her as she stepped onto the warmth of a rug stretched out before the still smouldering fire. Laying down her burden Eowyn quickly prodded the fire back to full life and nestled down before it with the book. She was shocked to find she could not read the cover for it was written in a graceful script quite unlike the Common Tongue.

She muttered a curse, dropping it listlessly into her lap. Lord Faramir had obviously included this volume in error. Just as she was about to rise to fetch another from the stack he had loaned, the man himself stumbled into the room, releasing a gusty, tremulous sigh.

If Eowyn was startled by his materialising, it was nothing to her shock at his appearance; his pale face was framed by unruly locks of raven hair and his tunic was poorly laced, revealing hints of a sculpted chest covered by bandages and bruises. When he ran his hand over his face Eowyn stirred herself and cleared her throat, somehow knowing that this proud man would not wish to be observed in such a discomposed state.

"My Lord Faramir," she greeted softly.

His head whipped up at that and he stared at her for a moment before recognition dawned in his gaze. "My Lady!" He said, surprised. Again she observed as he straightened his posture, a hint of colour bleeding into his cheeks as he ran a hand through his hair. His gaze fell to the book discarded in her lap.

"Forgive my intrusion." He said, contrite, "I shall leave you in peace."

"Nay, Lord, I should welcome your company, if you would stay?" Eowyn answered hastily, surprising herself. A smile played about his lips as he nodded silently, crossing towards her. She continued in a more droll tone, "You do not intrude, for in truth I cannot read this volume of yours."

Faramir's eyes flickered over the book as she held it up for inspection and he gave a lop-sided smile as he lifted it from her grasp. "My apologies. I had not meant to leave you with this one."

She watched as he folded his long legs beneath him and settled across from her, leafing idly through the book with a small smile. He turned to the start and began to read aloud, effortlessly translating the graceful script into one she could understand, his rich tenor breathing life into the simple words. A self-deprecating laugh issued from his lips as he paused after a few moments as if only just realising what he had been doing. "This one is a good story," he said by way of apology, glancing up at her with a shrug.

Despite herself, Eowyn smiled, caught up in his excitement. "Please read it to me," she implored.

With evident surprise and pleasure he met her gaze, acquiescing with a quick nod as she settled down more comfortably before the fire and stoked it to fullness once more. Patiently he waited for her movements to still before beginning the tale and it was not long before Eowyn was swept into a tale of daring and danger.

Faramir chuckled lightly as he closed the slim volume, observing, "Not _quite_ the reality of fighting cave trolls, but a good story nonetheless."

"No, I should imagine not," Eowyn agreed with a grin. "I know little of cave trolls, as we seldom see them in the Mark, save that the mere mention of them used to send even brave Boromir of Gondor into fits of savage swearing."

Faramir's eyes shot up, startled, before the mist of memory clouded over them and he broke into a disbelieving laugh, dimples flashing at the corners of his mouth, "Indeed it would!" He smiled at some private thought then and continued in a more pensive tone as he gently leafed to the front of the volume, "It was Boromir who gave me this book for my birthday some years ago – not long after a disastrous fight with some cave trolls out in Ithilien where he had been visiting me. We both ended up in here to recover for _weeks_ afterwards." He chuckled fondly, before reading aloud, " _Happy Birthday, Little Brother...Think of me when you read this! With love, Boromir._ "

He shook his head with a smile, his gaze full with memory. And Eowyn felt her heart clench at the sight of the breathless pain that emerged a moment later, unable to imagine a life without her own brother.

"You must miss him terribly," she said.

"I'm not sure I even believe he is gone…" Faramir replied, though his eyes were bright and his voice somewhat tight, "There has been so much to do in the last few weeks."

Eowyn nodded, understanding him only too well, for her mind had scarcely began to process the deaths of her beloved cousin and uncle, even though she had made her farewells over each of their bodies. She knew he had not even had that luxury and had led an army only days after learning of his brother's passing.

Silence stretched out long between them, only a few sparks crackling through the stillness of the night air as the fire began to die out. For something to do, Eowyn reached out to stoke it further, muttering beneath her breath as she jostled her arm.

She was surprised that Faramir's keen hearing had picked up on the sound, low as it had been, and lost in thought as he had appeared. But still the lord turned bright eyes to her and gave a wan smile.

"Between us we have a working pair of arms, perhaps then I might be of assistance…" and thus he reached forward to pick up the stick she had been reaching for to poke the fire. "You stoke, and I shall poke," he said, his mien so serious but for the glint in his eyes that Eowyn let out a muffled laugh.

"You must forgive me, I had not thought to be heard, and I have little patience for healing," Eowyn said, somehow embarrassed at appearing so ungrateful once again for the care of those in the Houses, when she had meant only that she did not have the patience for the waiting. But the Steward seemed to understand.

"Few of us really do have the patience for waiting, my lady, we simply must."

Unbidden, his words on the day they had met rose into Eowyn's mind and she blushed anew at his praise, wondering if her company had indeed helped to ease his cares as he had so wished. A moment later her blush deepened as anger rose within her; she was no simpering maid to care for such trifling praise, and why should she care to help him or not? She owed him nothing, and did not wish to.

 _I think you can trust him…_ Merry's voice came back to her, stilling her angry thoughts. She glanced at the handsome profile staring into the fire at her side, her brows furrowed, wondering if his selflessness and kindness to her had been a mask for some other motive of gaining her trust. But then, he had also shown the same care for Merry, and she knew that despite his protests he had pained himself to take them to the Citadel. Guilt welled up within her breast, swiftly followed by sadness. Was something broken within her that she could not think well of those who deserved it? Some taint in her own mind that reflected the taint in her cold heart? She bit her lip, unable to face such thoughts, as images of the Worm's face reared up in her mind. Any taint she bore had been put there by him. Tears beaded in her eyes as Eowyn wondered if she would ever be free of his insidious influence. But if any could rid her mind of mistrust, it would be this patient and gentle captain of Gondor in whom she saw so much good to admire.

* * *

The distant sound of screaming broke the silence in the room and Eowyn jumped in fright, her heart thumping suddenly in reminder of her own foul dreams. It seemed none could sleep in peace this night. Her brows pinched in sympathy as the shrill voice continued to wail, words suddenly clear in the hush of night.

" _Captain please! Help me!"_

She saw Faramir turn to face the door, his expression stormy and troubled in the firelight, the title catching his attention. The pleas continued for some moments, and Faramir swept to his feet ready to answer the unwitting summons, before the calls were abruptly cut off by the sounds of harsh sobbing.

Eowyn noticed a fine tremor running through the tall Captain's body as he stood to strange attention before her, and she knew without a doubt that he knew the voice that had been calling. That he was the Captain. He stood in silence trying to master himself for some time before Eowyn stood and crossed to him, her resolve forgotten in the face of his silent suffering.

"My Lord…" she began tentatively, reaching out to his elbow.

"I was too late to help him…" he blurted, turning to her, his pale face alive with unbridled shame and guilt. She stilled, caught under the intensity of his gaze, and he continued in a whisper. "They took his leg…The orcs took his leg and they ate it while he watched them. It was all I could do to stop the blood…"

Eowyn recoiled from the image his words created, knowing now why he had appeared so haunted at the thought of his flight from Osgiliath if the retreat had been filled with such sights.

The quiet that fell between them then was heavy and he turned away from her. Stunned into wordless silence, Eowyn could only watch as he sank into the chair before the fire, raking his free hand across his face.

Pain rose within Eowyn's breast as she watched him and thus she knew she could no longer lie to herself – despite her earlier thoughts, she did wish to ease the cares of this troubled man, if only in payment of the way he had so selflessly sought to ease hers. But before she could find the words he spoke once more, haltingly and with much effort to conceal he distress so clear in his usually melodic speech.

"I am sorry for -"

"You need ask no forgiveness." She said, echoing his words from earlier that same day. He must have caught the sentiment in her words for he raised his head and looked her full in the eyes once more, the tiniest light flickering to life in them beyond the darkness of guilt. "Already I am heavily in your debt," she continued, interrupting before his lips had the chance to form the words they sought. "You owe me no thanks."

"Nonetheless, I am grateful and you have them."

"It should be me thanking you: you have been kinder to me than I deserve."

"Nay, lady, you are owed more kindness and attention than any I can give." Faramir rebuked her gently, his eyes alive with admiration.

Eowyn felt her cheeks blaze and shifted, uncomfortable with the thought of his paying any attentions to her. She was all too aware that she could not place whether her discomfiture was due to the thought of his giving her any attentions at all, or the fact that he may simply be paying them from respect for her deeds. Her stomach roiled in disgust at herself; was she so vain that the thought of his attentions being made from a sense of duty displeased her? Or did this enigmatic man see her both as a woman and a warrior, and pay his attentions to both? The prospect thrilled and terrified her in equal measure.

She was disturbed from her deluge of thoughts as the Captain rose to his feet and excused himself.

"Thank you for humouring me," he indicated the book in his hand and smiled his farewell. "Goodnight, my lady. I hope you find some rest."

"And you, my lord," she managed to call out, just as his lithe form reached the doorway.

* * *

TBC.

Thanks for reading and to those of you who have reviewed. sorry about the delayed update - I've started writing an original story and it has been taking up lots of my time and imagination! Your patience is appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: Foundations**

 _"_ _Honesty is the foundation for trust, you can't have one without the other." - Anon._

Morning found the gardens empty save for one tall form atop the walls. Eowyn blinked in surprise, having thought she would have the space to herself at such an hour, but then the figure moved and she recognised the graceful control and was no longer surprised: it seemed a ranger would always rise early. Unwittingly she walked towards him and called out a soft greeting.

"Lord Faramir."

"My lady," he turned about in surprise, and it was with some discomfiture that she noted the pinched look about his face, the brightness in his eyes.

"I hope I did not wake you," he said, a wry twist to his mouth.

The corner of Eowyn's lip twitched in response for she knew his room adjoined her own, "Nay, you need have no fear on that account my lord, my sleep is yet fitful and short."

He nodded, somehow amused and grave at once, and wordlessly Eowyn stepped up to join him on the rampart.

Their eyes met as she rose to stand at his side, and for a moment Eowyn stood frozen, transfixed, by the weight of his gaze, the proximity of his lean body, but then he turned and leant against the battlement and the moment was gone.

"My lord…I hope you will excuse me for speaking so plainly, but are you quite well?" Eowyn said hesitantly.

Faramir turned to her, a smile upon his lips, though his eyes were full and spoke of turmoil. "I apologise, my lady, I must be poor company indeed this morn. I confess, sleep eludes me still. Dark have been my dreams of late."

"I am sorry to hear it my lord," Eowyn continued, keen to divert his thoughts. "I understand you are Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien and saw grim battle there. I have heard that it is a beautiful land. Would you tell me of it?"

A smile lit his countenance, quick and bright, and she saw for a moment the pride and love he carried for the place. And then he began to speak, and she closed her eyes, letting his melodic voice drift over her and the images form in her mind.

"I wish I could see it…" Eowyn said wistfully.

"Perhaps one day -" the Captain stiffened as he realised the impropriety of what he had been about to say and looked up to meet Eowyn's face regarding him strangely, her expression unreadable. His lips twisted into a wry smile at his own folly, and he continued hastily, "I think you would like it there a great deal, my lady."

"I am sure I would," Eowyn said, wondering at the queer passage of emotions over his handsome face. "You speak of it with great fondness."

"Aye, it is more of a home to me than the White City shall ever be; though I love Minas Tirith and would see her restored, there is a weight here which stifles me…"

The shield maiden unwittingly drew closer, her eyes riveted to his face. She knew too well what it was to be stifled in your home, to need the open space of the wilds to still the unrest in your soul, to be forced to remain where memories choked you. Somehow the thought of this proud man harbouring such pain pierced her heart, and she found that without heed or fear, she had reached out to grasp his hand.

"You are so cold!" he said, folding her palm within his own warm grasp with great care. A tingle raced up her arm at his gentle touch and she froze at the words hearing in them an echo spoken in ill accents so many weeks before by the Worm. But at his forthright query her mind startled back into awareness and she relaxed her rigid fingers.

"Tell me, does the Black Breath linger in you as well?"

"Aye, warmth has yet to return to me, though I was assured it shall with time. But, does that mean that you also suffer? I do not understand, your hand is so warm," she said, looking down at his hand, still grasping her own.

"It comes upon me in waves…" he admitted, and she felt her lips tug at the frown of almost scholarly concentration on his face. She had heard of his turn for the learned arts, had seen for herself his love of books. "It is worst where I was wounded, though the dart that pierced me was of human design only; I was told the wound presented the weakness the Black Breath needed to take hold of me. I find…" he looked up at her, hesitating, "I find that when I am happy the cold recedes."

She mused over his words, wondering if the same could be said to be true of her own condition. Suddenly realising that the happiest of her recent memories all featured his face and the implications of his own admission, she let go his hand and flushed, knowing his eyes were upon her.

"Forgive me, I should not have spoken so freely," the tightness in the Captain's voice drew her attention once more. His gaze was heavy with reproach and she wondered that he felt her discomfort so acutely and accepted the burden of blame so freely; he had done naught to deserve such censure, indeed his conduct had been most gentlemanly, and she felt grieved that a man so good should hold himself in such esteem, that her own fear and pride could cause such pain in another.

A bell tolled, sending a flock of gulls screeching overhead, the noise echoing in the stillness of the morning. Faramir released a sigh.

"We must go, before we are summoned. The Captains and Marshals are to meet this morning to hold council."

Eowyn regarded him strangely and he raised a brow.

"No messenger has come to you?" he asked sharply.

"Nay lord, I have had no news of this council." Eowyn replied, her tone testy though her ire was not directed at him.

To her surprise the Captain swore softly under his breath as he shook his head. "The old fools…I think perhaps you frighten them, Slayer of the Dwimmerlaik." His eyes sparkled in mischief and Eowyn felt her heart swell at the praise evident in his tone.

"Perhaps they are right to fear me," she returned his grin.

"I doubt it not," Faramir said, still smiling as he turned to lead the way.

When they arrived in the small anteroom set aside for the meeting, it was all she could do not to laugh as Faramir announced her, playing up to her newfound title. She met his sparkling eyes with a small shake of her head, only now feeling some pride in the deed that had left her questioning all her previous hopes and feelings, and allowed him to lead her into the room.

She eyed the Marshal Boerd cooly as she sat, knowing it was likely he who had seen fit to exclude her from the meeting; ever had he been free with his opinions of a woman's place. Her confirmation came when she answered the first point addressed to the Rohirric party in the room and he countered her word with a scoff. The others began to defend her position as just and sound but Eowyn merely raised a hand and turned to face him directly.

"You doubt my feelings on this matter; I assure you, you are wrong to do so. It is my body which has been wounded not my mind, it is a pity one cannot say the same for you." She raised her contemptuous gaze to the bandage wrapped about his flaxen head and was pleased at the angry, shameful flush that coloured his cheeks as the room chuckled.

Faramir did not miss the look the Marshal turned on Eowyn, and found himself bristling at the lack of respect in his hostile gaze. He was glad of the chance to upbraid him a short while later when he continued to roll his eyes when the White Lady spoke.

"Marshal, if you are having trouble with the proceedings I would invite you to step outside until you are master of your feelings," there was no mistaking the ice in Faramir's tone, nor the look of censure in his steely gaze, and it won him favour with the remaining Marshals of Rohan.

Faramir found himself the subject of that withering stare, but merely returned it unflinchingly, internally amused at the idea that the lad thought he could out-stare one of Denethor's sons. After a moment he raised a brow at Boerd and the younger man rose stiffly from his seat, recognising that, although it had been framed as a polite request, he had been dismissed from the meeting. He scowled darkly as he passed Faramir's seat, but made no further comment.

After that the council proceeded with haste and good sense prevailed, and Faramir was well pleased for his burden was lightened and they had some plans in place to see to the defence of the city and to the feeding of her people and guests.

He rose wearily to thank those gathered, "Without your council and good will I should have felt the tasks appointed me to be a burden; my gratitude to you all, and most especially to our cousins from Rohan. We owe you much and it will not be forgotten."

By turns the assembled captains and marshals rose and took their leave of the new Steward with bows. Faramir merely smiled at their formality and shook his head minutely as he shared a secret smile with one of his Sergeants, and he stepped to the door to individually farewell the men, clasping their forearms in the traditional warrior's pose. Eowyn's heart clenched at the respectful gesture, knowing it would mean more to the Riders than his earnest words of gratitude a moment earlier for it was the sign of thanks and farewell used by shield brothers. She was not wrong, saw in the men's eyes the twinkle of understanding and kindling love. She knew he had won their respect and devotion, that he had proved himself a man at once more wise and just, noble and yet also more grounded, than rumour spoke of the previous Steward.

When Eowyn reached him last she hesitated, but Faramir reached out to grasp her good arm, his face grave and serious. He nodded to her minutely, a flicker of a smile in his eyes, then released her as she held her head high. Her heart swelled with sudden love for the man and she was no longer afraid of his all-seeing eyes; she knew now why he inspired the loyalty and devotion of his people, why the men of this city held him in such regard. His understanding was keen, his heart large, and his hand was at once strong and tender. She felt she too would follow him unquestioningly into battle, into whatever end.


	5. Chapter 5 - Duty with Honour

A/N: Thank you to all those who are sticking with this despite the time between updates! And thank you for all the kind reviews; I cherish each one. It gives me true pleasure to know that you are enjoying my most recent foray into Middle Earth as much as I am, and I am glad you are enjoying my depictions of Faramir and Eowyn's characters. I have a few more chapters pre-written that I am tinkering with so hopefully more updates will follow soon and this time you won't have to wait too long (really am sorry about that, I rather forgot I had started this story...too much on!). Anyway, onwards...

 **Chapter 5: Duty with Honour**

 _"_ _Mine honour is my life; both grow in one. Take honour from me, and my life is done." - William Shakespeare, Richard II_

As the White Lady left the ward housing Rohan's wounded she heard shouts of distress and alarm and slowed before the entrance to the ward she knew housed the Rangers of Ithilien. She peered in cautiously just as Captain Faramir's authoritative voice joined the melee.

"Silence! And be still!" he said.

She gasped as she saw him approaching a man at the far side of the room who stood guard over another low cot, wielding a blade and shouting wildly at two junior healers who had been approaching him. The healers nodded at him and stepped aside slowly, bidding his instruction, and he removed his sling, wincing as he raised both hands to creep forward, speaking in low, soothing tones.

"Stay back! You filthy orc! Back!" the man yelled fiercely. "You will not take my son!"

The Captain continued his assurances. "Gareth, it is I, Faramir. Your son is safe now. Do you not know your Captain?" He asked softly. "We used to sing with the others – do you remember?"

And with that he began to sing softly, in elvish words Eowyn could not understand, but the beauty of his rich voice swept over her, stilling her heart for a beat. After a moment a few of the other rangers joined his song, and before long the whole room sang softly, desperately seeking to help their comrade, and warmth flooded Eowyn's soul as she saw the warm smile of approval Faramir shot their way.

A moaning cry from another room echoed down the hall and splintered the quiet peace falling over Gareth. A shout escaped him then and he lunged, and Eowyn took up the cry that filled the room as the Captain staggered back into the wall, the blade catching across his wounded shoulder, tearing a stifled gasp from his lips and leaving a livid slash in its wake. Those nearby surged forwards to intervene.

Faramir urged them into stillness once more, ignoring the myriad of blows raining down on him as he gently disarmed the screaming Ranger, restraining him as he mumbled quiet words of comfort into the older man's ears, heedless of the blood trickling down his torso. After a few minutes Gareth's struggles quelled and the Captain's warm tenor broke into his consciousness, releasing him from his nightmarish reality. With a sob he was led to his cot where he fell shortly into an exhausted sleep.

Only then did any sign of weariness cross Faramir's face; blood leaching from his flesh as he stood, eyes closing against the turn of the room.

The healers hurried forwards, waging admonishing fingers at him as they jostled to support him and Eowyn's brow raised as an uncharacteristic flash of anger appeared on his face.

"What would you have me do? These men are my responsibility. What is my job if not to see them safe where I may? It is because of me that his son lies bloody and his mind despairs of hope; the price of loyalty to me." Faramir's angry whisper died to a defeated sigh, "I should never have led them to Osgiliath!"

With that he pushed past the healers and into the hall, stopping with surprise for a moment as he registered Eowyn's presence at the doorway. He flushed at the sight of her and excused himself, dropping his tempestuous gaze to retreat to the gardens. Eowyn followed him slowly a moment later, concern colouring her features as he all but staggered onto a low stone bench.

She stood a moment in indecision before making her way over to him cautiously.

"It is not your fault," she said. His broad shoulders stiffened for a moment as he straightened his torso.

"We shall make a ranger of you yet, My Lady," he returned evenly, causing a tiny smile to flicker into existence as she revelled in the knowledge she had surprised his ranger's ears. Immediately it extinguished as the cruelty of her pleasure under given circumstances occurred to her – surely he would have heard her at any other time had he not been so distressed. Still he did not turn to face her and so she slowly seated herself at his side, offering silent support for a moment as she groped for something else to reassure him with, wishing she had his way with words.

In the end she merely repeated herself, her voice stronger this time to convey her surety. "It is not your fault."

His raven head drooped and he closed his eyes against her words, "I should have - "

Eowyn frowned as he broke off with a sigh but accepted his need for a measure of privacy, understanding it only too well, and so merely looked ahead of her, gazing fixedly at the buds and herbs sprouting from the ground beside them. Inhaling deeply, she caught the scent of lavender and let its calming influence wash over her, recalling happier times when as a young girl she would help pick the herb from their own gardens for use in the kitchen. The memory brought a swift smile to her face.

"How fare the Rohirrim?" Faramir's low voice startled her from her musings, and though the blatant avoidance of the subject of his distress hung between them heavily so too did she perceive the genuine nature of his enquiry.

"They are well cared for, thank you." Eowyn answered, watching him carefully. He seemed tense still and she suddenly remembered the knife that had so deftly slashed into his skin and moved to press a handkerchief against the bright wound. Faramir's eyes flitted up to meet her own at that, his surprise evident, even as his heart beat faster beneath her palm. The shieldmaiden froze, her eyes locked onto his, far too aware of the firmness of his chest, the warmth beneath her palm, the flecks of gold in his eyes, like sunlight on a river…

His hand drifted up to lightly graze her own as he took the handkerchief from her, sending a strange tingle through her. She stepped back as heat rose in her cheeks and said in a mockingly serious tone, "You appear to be dripping on the paving stones, and I should imagine that is frowned upon – even for you, My Lord Steward."

He let out an undignified snort of laughter at that, though accepted the comment with a rueful, twinkling smile, only for his expression to cloud with grief a moment later. Eowyn's brows drew together in regret and she winced at her clumsy words.

"I should go," he said, even as one of the healers came rushing out of the ward to beckon to him and Merry's tousled head rounded the corner.

"Faramir! You are wounded." Merry's distress was evident in his wide-eyed stare. Faramir's expression softened as he regarded the Halfling.

"It is a mere scratch, my friend," he said.

Merry merely blinked at him, eyes on the blood soaked handkerchief he held, and Faramir was touched by his concern.

"My Lord Faramir," Dame Ioreth called.

Faramir nodded his understanding before facing Merry once again. "On my honour, it looks worse than it is, dear Perian. I must away."

The words did not fill Merry with confidence, used as he was by then to the ways of proud Men, but the grave caste of Faramir's face, and the look of melancholy understanding in his eyes, stilled the hobbit's shuffling feet. Boromir had spoken once of his brother's ability to calm all manner of Men and beast; Merry smiled at the memory, understanding at last.

Once Faramir had departed he turned to the White Lady, "What happened?"

Eowyn relayed the incident she had witnessed.

"It pains me to think he cannot see how many of their lives he saved, only of those he could not," Merry said.

"Yes," Eowyn said quietly, "I have seen such sentiment many times. They call it survivors guilt."

"I understand."

Despite his words, Merry shook his head, his brow pulled low over the bridge of his nose in thought. He hesitated a moment and then glanced up as he began to speak. "Pippin spoke to me of Faramir's father before he left with the Army. I am told he was…displeased with his son's conduct and performance before the retreat, that he sent him unblessed to lead the fight in penance."

The Lady's brows furrowed at the careful pause and continued words of her friend. She had heard oft from Theodred in years past, about Denethor's cold disposition, his impossible standards, his closed heart. She wondered how it would feel to be the son of such a man, as well as one of his Captains. Never had she seen men sent off to fight without the blessing of their father or their lord, let alone without blessing from either. Her heart grieved for him then, understanding at last a little of the pain she had seen in the shadowed depths of his stormy gaze.

"We should check on him in the evening, perhaps invite him to share our supper?" Merry said.

Hoping to make some amends for her ill-thought jest, Eowyn understood his desire and readily agreed, her reticence of previous days forgotten, "Aye, I think he would appreciate that."

The hobbit grinned, seeing that she had decided she could trust the Man of Gondor.


	6. Chapter 6 - Stay

Chapter 6: Stay

 _"_ _I would rather walk with a friend in the dark, than alone in the light."_

 _\- Helen Keller_

Later that night, Merry and Eowyn made their way to the Captain's rooms, their pledge not forgotten. The Lady, tired from an afternoon visiting the wards of the Rohirrim, followed at a sedate pace behind the rapid pad of Merry's bare feet, waited behind him as he knocked on the wooden door adjacent to her own.

A gravelled voice bade them enter.

"Hullo! Can we join you?" Merry said as he poked his head around the corner.

Eowyn heard the weary smile in Faramir's voice as he answered.

"Aye, friend, you need not ask."

Eowyn followed to find Faramir standing by the open window, looking out at the clear night, the glowering dark of Mordor which lay visible beyond the curve of the mountains. Her trained eye swept over him even as he pulled up a chair for them and himself leaned against the small desk in the corner; he was pale but for the smudges beneath his eyes, and moved stiffly for one normally so full of grace, but seemed otherwise quite hale.

For the sake of his dignity, she sat in the chair, though warily kept her gaze on him as time passed. Just as she had been about to insist on his taking her seat, he surprised her by moving to sit on the edge of his bed, and it was then, with the light from the candles hitting his face in full, that she saw that his proud jaw was taut, brow dewed, and a fine tremor ran through him. He closed his eyes for a moment as he sat and a sharp pang of unease took Eowyn even as Dame Ioreth knocked and entered.

The shield maiden smiled as she caught the scent of the brew carried in the good mistress's hand. It would be sure to ease the signs of pain and fever that had begun to take hold of Faramir. She wondered at the strength of her relief.

"My Lady, and Master Perian! Good evening," she bobbed them a curtsey and turned swiftly to face Faramir, one hand pressed to his brow even as she passed him the tea with the other. "Now then, it is as I feared. Drink this and let us pray it brings down your fever."

"Should we take our leave now?" Merry asked, his questioning gaze caught somewhere between the object of his concern and the garrulous healer.

"Nay stay if you should wish it, I am well enough," Faramir insisted.

Eowyn regarded Faramir thoughtfully, her gaze flickering to Ioreth in query.

The old lady smiled strangely and gave a nod, "Aye, he is well enough for company. But see that you drink all of this," she said as she turned to the man, wagging a finger at the steaming brew held in his hand.

A light chuckle was drawn from her patient before he grew serious. "Peace, good mistress, I shall do as you bid; I have no wish to fall once more into fevered dreams."

The old lady's wizened hand found it's way onto Faramir's warm cheek as his eyes darkened. She replied with equal gravity, "I shall see that you do not, my Lord."

Faramir pressed her hand gratefully even as she withdrew it and as Ioreth bustled away with a matronly cluck, Eowyn wondered that the people of her own country could call those of Gondor aloof or haughty.

Eowyn's attention was drawn back to Ioreth as the woman poked her head about the door once more, her eyes creased in fond amusement as she regarded Merry with an arched brow.

"I have ordered a supper to be sent up to you. Be sure to finish it."

"That is well, I could eat a horse!" Merry exclaimed.

Eowyn shot him with a stern gaze, even as her lips fought the pull of laughter. "Indeed?!"

Merry's eyes grew round in sudden awareness even as he laughed at himself, picking up her hand to bow over it in gallant apology.

Faramir grinned at the spectacle, feeling some of the tension leave his frame as Eowyn's earthy laugh met his ears. It had been long since he had last heard honest laughter, and the sound of her joy, however momentary, was a balm on his tortured soul, the sight of her smile an arrow through his tender heart.

The food that Ioreth had ordered was brought in to them shortly thereafter, along with an additional chair. Faramir shook himself and rose stiffly and went to join his companions at the small table in the corner, smiling softly at Eowyn as he caught her eyes lingering on his progress with some concern. It was with some surprise that he felt her cool hand reach out to touch his brow as he sat and he could not help but lean into her touch, business-like as it was. His eyes danced. "I am quite well, I assure you. The tea has helped."

His words drew a flustered look to Eowyn's face and she coloured, removing her hand urgently. "Forgive me, my Lord, I did not-"

"Peace, my friend, there is naught to forgive; let us not stand upon ceremony! I would have you use my name, and if I may, I would use yours."

"Here here!" Merry interjected even as Eowyn smiled in sudden gladness, picked up her glass and raised it in turn.

"As you will," she said.

Her words drew a dimpled flash from Faramir. "Then let us eat!"

It was not long before Eowyn realised that it was only Merry who ate with any enjoyment: she had spent the better part of their meal pushing her food idly about her plate, nibbling on crumbs, and Faramir chewed his food with the slow deliberation of a man whose stomach might revolt at any moment. She saw that he still looked pale, strained even, but for two spots of colour on his cheeks, and his eyes once again held the brightness of fever. Her own gut twisted anxiously at the sight and she at last gave up the pretence of eating and laid down her fork.

"We should leave you to your rest," she said.

Faramir looked up and regarded her for a beat, something like disappointment in his eyes before he nodded slowly and flashed another of those rueful smiles she had come to associate with him. "I fear I have been poor company."

She chuckled as she shook her golden head, as ever drawn to the amusement dancing in his eyes. "Nay indeed! Quite the opposite," she said honestly, ignoring the heat that rose in her cheeks as Merry's twinkling eyes flitted up to her face.

Faramir gave a low laugh but his eyes were strangely grave as he looked at her, "That is well, it eases my mind to speak with you."

His words brought to mind their meeting some days previous, and Eowyn felt her blush deepen, inordinately pleased by his words. She almost laughed at the recollection of the spasm of fear that had had her flee from his eloquence, wondering how she could ever have felt anything less than at ease with this man. Instead, she herself smiled ruefully, and steeled her courage to look up once more into the intensity of his gaze.

"And I you," she said.

The joy unlooked for that flashed over Faramir's face at her words left her feeling strange. It was only after he turned his piercing gaze from her that she realised why: heat had returned to her limbs at last, the lingering vestiges of the Black Breath chased back, held at bay, by the sight of his twinkling smile.

TBC...

A/N: Once again, many thanks to my readers and reviewers. I am happy to hear you are all enjoying this interpretation of Faramir/Eowyn's burgeoning relationship as much as I am writing it!

Up next, the cloak...


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read/reviewed/added this to alerts or favourites! I love hearing your thoughts about the characterisation and style of this story :) Anyway...onwards!

 **Chapter 7: The Cloak**

 _I have loved the stars too long to be fearful of the night - Anon_

The warmth that had returned to Eowyn's flesh leeched away during the lonely stretches of the night, and when at last she was roused from her restless sleep by the wan grey dawn, she found that the dark images from her dreams haunted her waking. The loss of the warmth that had come to her the evening before was felt by the Lady like a keen blow, but too proud to admit the yearning that had been roused in her heart by Faramir's gentle smile and sparkling eyes, she remained cloistered in her chamber till the sun was high in the leaden sky.

It was only the the shame of her own cowardice that brought her to the gardens once more. She scanned the few convalescing figures who braved the rain and brooding clouds, wilted a little when she realised _he_ was not there. A sigh left her and she wondered if he had looked for her coming; angrily she asked herself if it mattered if he had. What time had she to worry over such trifles when the fate of Middle Earth yet hung in the hands of two small Halflings? But then she recalled the man's fever-bright eyes of the night before and worry overtook her. What if he had not recovered?

For a time she meandered about the winding paths, heedless of the rain soaking her wooden dress and dripping from the ends of her hair, so lost in melancholy reflections that she did not at first register the approach of the stout, balding man from across the lawn.

"My Lady, you must come inside out of this rain!"

Startled, Eowyn turned to find the Warden looking upon her anxiously. She blinked at him listlessly.

"Please, do as I bid you and come in to sit by the fire," he urged.

The shield maiden snorted before she could stop herself. "Think you Sir that I am unaccustomed to the rain?"

Undaunted, the Warden maintained his blustering concern and looked on her with kindly eyes.

"Nay, Lady, though I fear that you will take a chill, and I was charged to tend you with special care," he said.

Eowyn's gaze hardened and she spoke with some asperity: "I assure you I am quite well and do not require any special care, Master Warden."

The old man's shrewd eyes did not miss the flashing of indignant pride in her gaze, nor the way her own eyes came to rest upon the forms of those still striding about the gardens un-accosted. Almost he smiled at her spirit, but before he could speak another voice arrested his attention.

"Peace, Slayer of the Dwimmerlaik: I think perhaps, Master Warden refers to your lack of cloak on this damp Spring day."

So saying, Faramir strode to her side, and released the clasp of his own oiled cape to tug the garment from his broad shoulders. He held the item out to the horsewoman, eyes dancing beneath an arched brow.

The Warden marvelled at the change that came over the Lady's countenance as light came into her eyes and the sternness about her mouth yielded, lips lifting in a reluctant grin as she registered the Steward's gentle mockery. It seemed that she was torn between amusement and irritation.

She stayed silent for a beat, meeting the Captain's twinkling eyes with a combative gleam in her own for it seemed she had no cause for concern; Faramir looked well in sooth, his eyes had lost the lustre of fever and the heightened colour on his cheeks had faded. "Indeed?"

Faramir turned back to the Warden, "Indeed it must be so."

"You are quite right, My Lord," he said, giving a short bow to hide his own amusement. Ever had the younger Son of Denethor been a shrewd reader of people's hearts and always he put the skill to good use.

"There you have it," Faramir said, turning to Eowyn with a flourish.

Eowyn sighed and begrudgingly took the proffered cloak, throwing it awkwardly about her shoulders, her brow raised in challenge. Faramir nodded and turned away.

"There can be no quarrel now good Sir?" he asked the older man.

"Nay, my Lord, I am content that _you_ will take special care of the Lady," said the Warden, warmed by the flush that came into Faramir's pale cheeks. It seemed he too could read the heart's of men. "I will take my leave now."

Eowyn inclined her head to the Warden as he bowed and bustled off to shelter under the cloisters of the main hall as the rain beat down heavier, falling now in large droplets instead of the drizzle of moments before.

"Now it is you who needs a mantle: you are soaked through!" she said in exasperation as she looked at Faramir, for so he was: the fine white tunic he wore was already moulded against his sculpted flesh, and his raven hair hung, unruly, in curling rivulets about the proud line of his jaw. Unwittingly she ran an appraising eye over his form, noting the array of bandages wound about his lithe torso, the corded muscles of his shoulders and arms. She flushed at the sight, inordinately grateful when he laughed with his usual insouciance, his impact upon her composure quite unnoticed.

"Indeed, but it matters little as I do not wish to stay in the gardens," he said, smiling as he held out his free hand. "Would you care to join me?"

Eowyn could not help it. She laughed, knowing she had been doubly bested by his gallantry, and accepted his hand to be led inside.

—

It was later the same evening when they met again. The moon had risen, waxing gibbous, and the gardens stood bathed in silver beneath its glow, empty but for Eowyn's lone form. The Lady stood atop the walls, a lissome figure, tall and proud, looking west, wither all their hopes had gone. Her young face was grave.

Thus it was that Faramir found her, and his heart went out to her, for he knew she must be thinking of her brother, Eomer-King, who had ridden that way some days before, and well he knew her pain. But he had none now to look for; Boromir would never return home to the halls of his fathers, for he had passed at last out to the Sea. His heart clenched in his breast and almost he wished that he could join his sibling in the Halls of Mandos, if only to see him once again, but the moment passed and Faramir sighed and passed a hand across his eyes. By some strange fate his life had been spared, and he would not waste it dreaming of release. They would meet again one day, but till then he wished to live now in the present and enjoy every moment he was able, and as he looked at Eowyn's slender form, he wished with sudden passion, that his hopes would not prove vain, that he may yet live to grow old and find peace. He threw the package he carried over his unbound shoulder and stepped towards her with sudden resolve.

"Eowyn," he called.

She turned at his voice, and he could see that she had been crying; her cheeks were yet damp and her eyes were solemn, hopeless. The sight struck pity once more into his heart, and abandoning all propriety or convention, he at once drew her to his chest.

To Eowyn's own surprise she yielded willingly into the comfort of his embrace, a sob drawn from her as he repeated her name, his tone imbued with sympathy and understanding. Long moments he held her, silent while grief and fear consumed her, and when at last she drew back in murmuring apology, her tears spent, it was to find that the eyes that looked down upon her were also brimming with moisture. Faramir blinked, releasing a line of gossamer dew from his long, dark lashes.

"Oh," Eowyn breathed, and her cool fingers drifted up to graze his cheek.

Faramir released an unsteady breath at her touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a beat as he spoke her name once more, voice strangely ragged. Eowyn startled at the sound as heat spiked through her veins, and made to draw her hand away, awareness brought back to her, only for the man to catch it up within his own.

Eowyn became intensely aware of his height and proximity, the grave tenderness in his eyes, the fullness of his parted lips. She let out a breathy exhale, her entire body thrumming, taut, but did not demur as he lifted her trembling fingers to press a gentle, searing kiss to the back of her hand.

"I would see you smile," he whispered.

Convulsively, Eowyn gripped his hand at his words, tears springing to her eyes once more as if her Uncle spoke to her through another's lips. _No more despair._

Unable to speak, she merely nodded, suddenly overwhelmingly grateful for her erstwhile companion. The man had proved a comfort beyond measure in these last days; unendingly kind and thoughtful, patient and understanding, humorous and steady. She knew that whatever days would follow she could weather them with forbearance at his side.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Faramir's lips quirked in a half smile and he released her hand. He unslung a wrapped bundle from his shoulder and held it out.

"I want you to have this," he said, pressing it into her unbound hand.

The Lady's eyes drifted up to meet his own in confusion, but at his continued urging, she acquiesced and opened the parcel. Her brow wrinkled further as she opened it to reveal heavy folds of midnight blue velvet dusted in stars of silver and gold. She blinked as the wrappings fell away, realising it was a cloak.

"Faramir - I - it is beautiful," she said in wonder. He could not mean for her to have anything so fine.

"It is nothing to your beauty," he said.

She shook her head in protest, and looked back at him in blushing uncertainly, feeling strangely exposed beneath his smiling eyes. For a long moment time stilled, marked only by the thudding of her heart, till Faramir let out a breath and ducked his head, hand drifting up to rub at the base of his neck.

"Forgive me," he said, "I have made you uncomfortable."

Eowyn's stomach twisted and she hastened to reassure him, feeling suddenly fey. After all, why should she not take such comfort and pleasure as was offered her where she may in such uncertain times.

"Nay indeed, I am honoured by the compliment," she said, "I only wish I could find words enough to express my gratitude. You are too kind to me…"

The shadow that had fallen over the Captain's face cleared at her words and he offered her a lopsided smile. "It will be thanks enough to see you wear it."

Eowyn nodded and brought the heavy mantle over one shoulder, arranging the folds somewhat awkwardly without the use of her broken arm.

"Allow me," Faramir's murmured words were her only warning before his body pressed close against her own and he reached about her to bring the rich fabric over her other shoulder. Their hands met as he brought the edge of the mantle to rest beneath her throat and held it in place while she fumbled with the clasp, fingers tingling from his touch.

"Thank you," she said, her voice a little breathless even to her own ears.

Faramir looked at her with a queer half smile on his lips.

"You are most welcome, dear shield maiden."

TBC...


	8. Chapter 8 - A Light in the Dark

**Chapter 8: A Light in the Dark**

"I am in the world feeling my way to light amid the encircling gloom."

– Mahatma Gandhi

That night, for the first time since her arrival in Minas Tirith, she dreamt not of the Nazul, nor of any dark or sorrowful thing. She dreamt instead of Faramir: He stood in the garden, atop the parapets, raven hair dancing in the wind. His lean form was limned in the golden light of the sun, and she was conscious of a quickening of her pulse at the sight of him standing there, proud and handsome as a king of old. She made her way towards him but before she could speak he turned, perceiving her, and smiled a welcome, holding out his hand to her. She hesitated a moment, whereupon his expression softened into one of sorrow. His familiar tenor broke the silence. "You need not fear me, dear shield maiden."

"I do not," she answered, placing her hand into his and allowing him to guide her to stand at his side.

He smiled at her words, swift and bright, and pressed a quick kiss to the back of her hand. The warmth from his lips stole into her flesh, chasing back the lingering chill of grief and setting her cheeks ablaze as her eyes darted to his. The looked long upon each other, grey on grey, till eventually Faramir's lips lifted in a tiny smile and he closed the distance between them…

Eowyn woke with a gasp.

"Good morning My Lady," Mistress Ioreth placed a tray by Eowyn's bedside and lifted her eyes to regard her with a smile. "Did you sleep well?"

Eowyn flushed vividly and ran a cool hand over her cheeks. "Yes, Mistress, I thank you."

Knowing well of the Lady's love of solitude in the morning, Ioreth dismissed herself after pouring her ward's tea, and left Eowyn to her contemplations over breakfast.

After a time the young Rohir was forced to acknowledged both her attraction to Faramir, and the peace he brought to her soul. She wondered at her own folly in allowing him to breech her defences so soon after Aragorn, but upon thinking of it, realised that although alike at first, the two men were quite different. Where Aragorn was high and lordly, Faramir seemed, although no less noble of mind or bearing, less remote somehow, more warm. That very warmth had melted the ice about her heart.

She thought of all the little kindnesses Faramir had performed for her, of the way he strove to bring a smile to her face, and the light in his eyes when he succeeded. She thought too of the unveiled sorrow she had glimpsed in his eyes the night before when he had thought his attentions were unwelcome, and her mouth twisted into a sad smile as she shook her head. It was true that she had been startled by his candid words, having grown accustomed to their easy camaraderie, but she had not wished to spurn his gentle advances. She bit her lip against a smile: to think she, a bold and cynical shield maiden, had grown enamoured with his patient tenderness. But so it was. Faramir was so very dear to her already, and she vowed she would let no fear mar what was likely to be their last days, that she would allow herself this happiness before the end.

Before long, the shield maiden found herself in the garden. As she had both hoped and feared Faramir was there, standing atop the walls as he had in her dreams. She stilled, and watching him for a moment was assaulted by a wave of doubt and fear. She drew a breath to steady herself. A moment later she ascended the steps to the parapet and hailed him.

Faramir turned, eyes lighting up at the sight of her, offering her a dimpled smile which she returned tremulously as she accepted his hand. "Eowyn," he said, and his voice sent a thrill through her veins, "How fare you this morning? Are you well?"

She nodded, though a pang of disappointment shot through her when he did not lift her palm to kiss. Her gaze hovered for a moment about his lips and she wondered how they would feel against her own. Faramir stepped closer to her, frowning at her abstracted silence.

"Eowyn?"

The Lady started, gaze flying upwards. She regarded him with wide eyes, heart pounding in her breast, and eventually found her tongue. "Indeed I am well!" she assured him, "Forgive me. My mind was elsewhere."

So saying she turned to look out over the Pelennor, letting the breeze cool her flaming cheeks. She could feel Faramir's eyes on her still.

"What do you look for yonder?" he asked, and she thought his voice oddly tight.

"It is seven days since he rode hence…" she said, her thoughts drawn suddenly to her brother.

"Aye, and yet these seven days have brought me more pain, and more joy, than ever I thought to know," Faramir said gravely.

Struck by the fact he spoke in echo of her own heart, Eowyn turned to face him once more and so saw that he looked wan and pale, as if he had not slept at all, and that his gaze was greatly shadowed. Her brows pinched. "What troubles you?" she asked.

The suggestion of a smile flickered over his face before his mouth once more drew down into a grim line, admitting softly: "I cannot speak of it. The pain is yet too near."

Eowyn nodded, and so they stood for a while in melancholy silence, their hands eventually clasping together, each lost in their own thoughts. Eventually Eowyn turned to regard the Captain once more, feeling the tension in his frame, and was grieved to see that he had not mastered his sorrow.

"Come," she urged, tugging on his unbound hand, "Let us walk a while."

"Forgive me," Faramir said, his voice ragged, "I am poor company indeed this morning."

"Peace, _"_ Eowyn admonished, letting go his palm to press one cool finger against his lips.

Faramir froze under her touch, lips parting, and then suddenly his hand drifted up to grasp her own, and he pressed his lips briefly to her fingers. "Thank you, Eowyn."

The lady flushed at the fleeting caress but if Faramir noticed he made no sign, merely drawing her hand into his arm so that they walked the gardens, their companionable silence occasionally broken by snatches of conversation.

It was not till later, when they parted for rest before the afternoon meal, that Eowyn realised he might have seen her reaction to his touch, for when he bade her farewell he once more raised her hand to his lips, this time brushing a light yet lingering kiss across her knuckles, his twinkling eyes never once breaking contact with her own.


	9. Chapter 9: A Kiss

**Chapter 9: A Kiss**

 _"_ _Now a soft kiss - aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss." —John Keats_

Eowyn woke after a long nap to a curly head peering round the door frame. Grey light filtered through a gap in the curtains and the room was chill.

"Merry?" she said, yawning as she pulled a shawl over her arms.

The Hobbit grinned and padded into her room, placing a cup of tea beside her. "Mistress Ioreth bade me see if you were awake and ready for luncheon?"

She smiled, "Thank you Merry, that's very kind of you. Let me have my tea and I will come down and join you."

Eowyn laughed as Merry's stomach gave a loud grumble, and said, rising, "I had better make haste!"

The Halfling grinned responsively and gave a courtly bow. "I am content to wait for you, My Lady."

When Eowyn arrived at the garden some minutes later she was disappointed to see that the clouds had not cleared and a fine mizzle of rain lay over the land once more. Merry was nowhere to be seen. Indeed the garden was empty but for one lone figure sitting on a low bench in the lee of a pine tree, heedless of the weather. She sighed, wondering what haunted Faramir.

She hesitated, glanced down the corridors, then strode out into the garden. As she drew near she saw that Faramir's eyes were closed, long dark lashes resting on pale cheeks. His hair was damp, so too his clothes where they were not covered by his oiled cloak. He looked at once peaceful and strangely melancholy and she stopped in her tracks, wondering if she should even wake him — it was clear he needed the rest — but it was growing cold and he was already soaked and could ill afford to fight off a chill.

She stepped over to him and touched his arm lightly, his name on her lips. But before she could utter it his lashes lifted to reveal the deep grey of his eyes. Immediately his gaze clouded and he drew in a breath, closing his eyes in a long blink as he tilted his head back. Rain spattered his face and tracked over his cheeks, an echo of unshed tears.

Eowyn's brows pinched as she regarded him, her heart clenching at the sight of his pain unmasked. Knowing it would be useless to ask if he was alright, since he was patently not, she cast about for something with which to break the silence and bring a smile to his face. No words of eloquent comfort sprang to mind and she cringed, settling for merely reaching out to take his hand in her own as she sat at his side, saying simply, "I am here."

Faramir drew a deep breath and gasped when his ribs shifted, eyes flying open. He hissed out a controlled breath and groaned.

"Easy," Eowyn said, her fingers reaching out, feather light, to rest press against his bound torso, "Small breaths."

A rueful smile quirked one side of Faramir's full lips for a moment. "You would think I'd be used to breathing by now."

"Peace," she admonished. He grinned and fell silent then for a time till his breaths were measured once more whereupon he lifted her fingers from his torso and held her hand over his heart, forcing her to turn to face him more fully.

"Eowyn," he spoke somewhat huskily though his eyes travelled over her face with a look of infinite tenderness. Her eyes grew wide with wonderment and heat rushed to her cheeks, her heart beating in accord with his as it thundered beneath her palm.

"Faramir?"

He smiled at the query in her tone and cupped his hand against her cheek, drawing near to her. He drew a breath and spoke earnestly, without any trace of self-consciousness. "I wish I could find the words to thank you for the joy you bring to me."

"Me?" she blinked.

"Aye, you, dearest Eowyn," he said, smiling warmly as his callused thumb caressed her cheek. He swallowed and his face grew serious once more. His fingers drifted down lightly against her neck and he tilted her chin so that she looked upon him.

"You are a light in the darkness," he said, "I would be lost without you," and Eowyn drew a quick breath and shivered beneath his feathery touch as his lips brushed fleetingly against her own.

She murmured his name, felt him smile a little as he pressed a second, lingering kiss firmly against her lips before drawing back to look at her.

Eowyn regarded him with a shy, demure smile at odds with the mischievous sparkle in her wide eyes. "That was very bold, My Lord."

Quick to perceive her bantering tone, he responded with a dimpled, lop sided grin. "Indeed, I beg My Lady's forgiveness."

Eowyn bit her lip against a bubble of laughter. "I assure you, that won't be necessary."

She caught sight of Merry waving at the far side of the garden and raised a hand in greeting, hoping he would not see her flushed cheeks. She turned to Faramir.

"I should go," she said. Her heart clenched at the flash of uncertainty that crossed Faramir's handsome face. She hastened to explain. "I am meeting Merry for lunch."

Faramir's raven head bobbed once in understanding.

"Will you not join us?"

He smiled then, a little wistfully, and shook his head. "Thank you, but I must see Angbor, and Lord Hurin."

Eowyn regarded him in concern. "You should be resting," she said.

Faramir sighed. "I know," he admitted, "And in soothe, I feel sorely in need of it, but the Lord of Lamedon arrived late last night and I would have speech with him regarding the movements of the Haradrim. We cannot be found unprepared should they risk an attack on the city, and Hurin cannot deal with such matters alone for he is not a military man."

"Do you expect them to attack the city?" she asked, golden brows rising in query.

Faramir shook his head once, and frowned for a moment in consideration. "Perhaps."

"Then perhaps you would be so good as to show me to your armoury later so that I may find something with which to defend myself in the event of a breech," Eowyn said, her expression becoming stern as she continued, "The healers have removed my sword and dagger from my keeping."

Faramir's lips twitched, as he spoke in dry accents, "It seems it is not only the Marshals who are afraid of you."

Once more she swelled, hearing the strange note like pride in his voice, but he sobered quickly, brows pinching across the bridge of his nose as he regarded the state of her sword arm. He pursed his lips, then nodded and loosed a long knife from his own belt.

"Take this," he said, passing it to her, "It should serve you better than a sword if it should come to a fight."

Eowyn ran a finger over the embossed leather of the sheath, admiring the craftsmanship and intricacy of the design, but glanced up at Faramir, protesting. "But this is yours."

Faramir nodded gravely and reached out to close her hand about the sheath. "Aye, but I would fain give it up to see you safe."

"I cannot accept this," Eowyn whispered. "I owe you much already."

Faramir regarded her with piercing eyes, "Anything I have given you has been given freely. You owe me nothing."

She looked long at him and read the truth in his eyes. "I know." A smile rippled over her lips and, impulsively, she reached out and to kiss Faramir's cheek. "Thank you."

An answering smile bloomed over Faramir's lips. "That was very bold, My Lady."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: Bittersweet**

 _"_ _Even if you are someone used to wearing armour, guarded and afraid, I think love is such a strong force it would find a way through your protective guard. It will get to your heart, and you can't put any fences around that. As much as you might try, you simply can't." —Sidney Poitier_

Merry grinned as Eowyn rose and hurried towards the shelter of the corridor which opened out into the gardens, inhaling deeply. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright, and the Hobbit was secretly impressed she did not look back at Faramir, though the man's smiling gaze followed her movements. But he was not fooled by her attitude of blithe unconcern and regarded her with a latent twinkle.

Seeing this, the shield maiden shot him a quelling look, somewhat at odds with the lingering smile which hovered about her firm lips.

"Not a word," she growled, falling into step at his side.

Merry failed to suppress the twitch of his mouth and darted a quick look at her from under his lashes. A look of quiet contentment and wonder had softened the usually stern lines of her face, and her eyes had lost their emptiness. His own grin mellowed at the sight.

"He is a good man," he said simply.

"Aye," she breathed, smiling a secret little smile as she looked down at a sheath in her hand, "The very best."

Merry smiled and led the way into a quiet common room in which the Healer's had laid a small spread of warm bread and butter, soup, cheese and apples, in the midst of a worn oak table in the middle of the room. A fire crackled in the corner.

Eowyn stopped at the threshold and looked down at Merry with raised brows. "This is quite a feast!" she laughed. "Have you sourced all these treats to tempt my poor appetite?"

Her companion blinked innocently. "I had hoped to, yes," he flashed a quick grin, "But if this _light_ repast should prove too much for you I would be happy to lend you my aid."

Eowyn's eyes gleamed, "A most noble sentiment Master Holdwine! Let us feast then!"

Without further ado Merry hurried to the table, waiting only long enough to pull Eowyn's seat for her, before he himself clambered onto a stool and cut several thick slices from the warm loaf. He buttered a slice and passed it to Eowyn before helping himself to a large bite. Brandishing the slice, he motioned to the sheath by Eowyn's elbow.

"What is it?" he asked.

Excitement bloomed in Eowyn's eyes and she picked up the sheath and passed it carefully to him. "It is a knife from Captain Faramir."

"May I look?" he glanced up to see her nodding enthusiastically, and slipped the blade from its sheath.

It was made of a strange, lightweight metal which glinted in the low light from the fire, catching on its polished surface to send its etchings into dark relief. The Hobbit's eyes were strangely bright.

"It is twin to Boromir's," he said softly. "He said his father gifted it to him when he came of age. He taught Pippin and I how to fight with it." A melancholy smile ghosted over his face, clearing a moment later as he traced the familiar design. "He said Faramir got one a few years later; he was so proud…"

Eowyn sat speechless.

"This is indeed a fine gift," Merry said. He returned the blade to its worn sheath and passed it back to her.

The shield maiden accepted it dazedly and shook her head a little. She swallowed back the sudden lump in her throat. "I had no idea…I wonder how he could bear to be parted from it."

Merry's expressive brows popped up, but he said in perfect seriousness, "He thinks a great deal of you, My Lady."

Eowyn met his gaze, her expression wavering somewhere between uncertainty and contentment, both frowning and smiling at once.

Merry let a beat of silence pass. "A very great deal indeed…"

Eowyn inhaled an unsteady breath. "How will I ever thank him for his kindness?"

Merry poured them each a mug of ale, and passed one to Eowyn. As she lifted the drink his eyes flashed with mischief.

"I should think he would settle for another kiss."

Eowyn choked into her ale and threw him a dirty glare as his curly head disappeared behind his own mug. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the glow that lit her cheeks.

Chuckling, Merry supped his own brew.

Later, when they were done eating and Merry had departed to meet Bergil, in a bid to keep the young lad company, Eowyn made her way once more to the wards of the wounded.

The Riders hailed her with smiles and queries after her health and she sat a while with each of the men she found awake and cognisant, and even with those who lay unresponsive, lending her cool hand to many a fevered brow. The men delighted in her presence and spoke of her in whispers which she pretended not to hear. Seeing a familiar figure on a low cot in the corner she stepped over to it.

"Freawine?"

The boy looked up, his face breaking into a worn smile at the sight of her. Eowyn sat next to his cot and took his hand, pressing it in her own, wishing very much that he was safely back in Meduseld and had not been forced to give up his childhood so soon. He should have been tending the horses in the stables, training the colts in the fields…

"My Lady, how are you?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"I am well. Your knee — does it pain you?" she said, her gaze straying to his bound leg. She had heard from Elfhelm that the stable boy had broken it badly during a fall from his beloved horse.

"A little, My Lady," the boy said, blushing up to the tips of his fiery hair.

"There is no shame in admitting such a thing, Freawine," Eowyn said kindly, "I too am pained by my shield arm, but it will pass and I will make it strong again."

Freawine regarded her with wide eyes full of trust. "Do you think I will ever ride again, My Lady?"

Compassion softened Eowyn's face. Of course he was worried about riding. She nodded seriously. "Indeed I do. You need not fear that, Son of Freulef. We will see you in the saddle again, I promise you that."

The lad's eyes grew misty. "Thank you, My Lady."

She asked after his horse and promised to visit it in the stables and give it a carrot from him to speed its own recovery, before turning their talk to home. She knew the boy's sister worked in the kitchen in Meduseld, and learnt too that he had a sweetheart that worked as a maid. She smiled as he talked of his intention to wed the girl if he ever made it home.

"You will make her a fine husband," she said, smiling at the sight of Freawine's drooping eyelids. "You are tired. I will leave you now, Son of Freulef. Rest well."

She squeezed his hand in farewell, content that he would dream of happier things, and rose, drawing the small screen before his cot to offer him a measure of privacy. It was not until she passed another two screened cots that she stopped in her tracks. Faramir's gentle tenor rumbled from behind the screen.

"…it has all been sorted now."

"Then you should go and sleep, Captain," his companion said, adding gruffly, "You look dreadful."

Eowyn smiled a little, recognising the concern beneath the terse speech, but her expression grew pained as Faramir shifted, a shadow flickering over the screen, and answered.

"I cannot," he said, the tension obvious in his voice. "Every time I close my eyes I imagine my father, how it must have happened— what he must have _felt_. He was a proud man, for him to take his own life in such a way…I can only imagine the despair he suffered. The pain."

Eowyn lifted a hand to her mouth in shock. It made sense now. She swallowed. She had never dreamed his sorrow that morning had been caused by anything so awful, had just assumed he was grieving naturally for his losses. She held her breath as Faramir continued.

"I keep wondering," he said, "If things might have been different if we had parted on better terms; if I had known, if I had _noticed…_ "

The regret in his voice brought quick tears to her eyes.

"More than anything I think perhaps he was right to wish our places exchanged: if Boromir had been alive father would never—"

"Don't you dare!" the anger in the voice surprised Eowyn and effectively silenced Faramir as it continued in a low growl. "He should never have wished that. _Never_. Don't you ever let me hear you say that again."

"Damrod—" Faramir's tone was meek, exasperated, pleading, combative.

"There is nothing you could have done, lad," Damrod said, gently. "It was not your fault."

A beat of silence passed before Faramir countered in a low whisper, "I was such a disappointment to him."

Tears spilled down Eowyn's cheeks.

"No," Damrod said, soft but firm, "Any man would be happy to have such a son as you, and your father was very proud of you. He loved you, Faramir. He was not himself in the end…"

A shuddering breath.

"It's alright, lad. Let it out," Damrod said, and there was a rustle of movement as his hand reached out. "Let it out."

Eowyn's stomach twisted and a fresh wave of tears spilled down her cheeks. She felt as if her heart would break for him, had not guessed at the depth of pain he carried behind his quietly confident exterior, and she marvelled once more that he should strive to bring a smile to her face in the midst of his own suffering. The sound of gentle weeping met her ears then and guilt tugged at her for intruding upon so private a moment.

She dashed away her tears, and slipped quietly from the ward. The corridor was empty and she leant against the wall, willing her brain to forget what she had heard. Her brows pinched and she bit her lip against a wave of disgust; she should never have listened to his conversation, what had possessed her to skulk around like that, eavesdropping?

"Lady Eowyn?"

Her head flew up. "Elfhelm," she sighed, hand against her beating heart. "You startled me."

"Forgive me," the Marshal inclined his head and regarded her intently. "Are you quite well, My Lady?"

Eowyn sagged against the wall as the old Marshal stood next to her, her head tilted back to look at the sweeping arches of the ceiling. Elfhelm had ever been a trusted confidant and she found herself once more relying on the Rider's ear.

"I overheard something," she admitted.

Elfhelm's face remained impassive. He gave a nod and Eowyn continued.

"Something very private…"

"Hmm," he nodded once more and raised a hand to scratch at his beard, his keen blue eyes glancing at her. "This doesn't happen to have anything to do with your Captain Faramir, does it?"

Too surprised that he had known the cause of her unease, Eowyn did not immediately bristle. Her grey eyes were wide as she turned to him. "How did you know?"

Elfhelm's lined face settled into a grim expression. "Rumour are flying about the men. They say he found out about his father's suicide today. I had hoped it was not true…"

Eowyn's face fell. "Yes," she said sadly. She blinked a moment later and directed a scowl at the Marshal. "And he is not _my_ Captain."

Elfhelm's brow ticked up and a kindly yet amused smile hovered about his lips as he stared pointedly at the deep blue, starry mantle she wore. "No? A man does not give such very fine gifts unless he wishes to be."

He waited a beat, ignoring the flush of her cheeks, before adding gravely, "If he is not _your Captain_ , then I would advise you to be careful with him, My Lady. The Rangers whisper that your fine cloak once belonged to his mother, and I speak from experience when I say a man does not bestow such an honour without the noblest of intentions."

Speechless, Eowyn could but blink at the older man.

He ignored her discomposure and continued matter-of-factly. "I would not harbour any guilt about having heard the grave news regarding his father, My Lady. You could hardly have helped it."

He pushed off the wall and turned to her, blue eyes twinkling kindly, "Or you could simply tell him that you know and are sorry for it…I do not think he will hold it against you."

With that, he bowed and passed into the wards at her back, leaving Eowyn alone in the corridor once more.

She felt almost dizzy and her eyes gazed, unfocussed, at the pale flagstones beneath her feet. After a moment, she stood and meandered back into the garden, cloak pulled close about the rain. Unwittingly her feet drew her to the bench where she had found Faramir that morning and she closed her eyes tight as his image intruded in her brain: it was useless, still she could see his ghost, could feel the echo of his touch. She exhaled and as her eyes blinked open she frowned in irritation.

Men had a cheek to say that women gossiped. It seemed that they were no better. She quelled her irritation. She should have known that idle tongues would wag, and in truth, she had nothing to be offended by, it was merely that she perceived herself to be a fool for not having anticipated what the men would say.

Even Merry had tried to tell her about how highly Faramir thought of her, could it be that he had meant…

Eowyn stood angrily. What was the use of conjecture? Indeed, it was madness to presume that Faramir meant to make her an offer in these circumstances! She exhaled shakily and acknowledged a thought both thrilling and terrifying: it was not madness to think that he loved her. The way he looked at her…

She shook her head. What did that matter now? They had no time. Her head drooped sadly, even as she fisted her hand against the stone of the parapets.

She paused, the wind whipping her hair. What if the circumstances were different?

A frisson of heat ran through her and her expression melted into one of dreaming abstraction, her eyes faraway, lips curling. She shook her head, banishing her thoughts, and descended from the walls.

When she looked up she froze: Faramir stood at the entrance to the garden. He smiled at the sight of her, and she swallowed back a sudden lump as her heart soaring in answer. Never before had she felt such sorrow and joy at once.

She smiled sadly and cared not that her eyes glowed as she drank in the sight of him, for here was a man whom she might have loved, given the time, whom she might love even now, though there was no time…


End file.
